


Un Bel Dí Vedremo

by Cibbs



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Interior monologue, Microfic, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cibbs/pseuds/Cibbs
Summary: As she lies dying, Bella is invaded by her memories.
Relationships: Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford
Kudos: 2





	Un Bel Dí Vedremo

As I languish on the bed, I close my eyes and I can observe Santa Maria dei Fiore’s cupola, under the canopy of the crepuscular light. I remember the first time I came here with Jack. Oh, yes! That time in which I worked for the Navy, when everyone called me “Bella, bella, bella” and he turned me into his Bella. In my ears resonates that beautiful aria from the opera we went to see the night before returning to Baltimore. Oh, yes! Cio-Cio-San’s voice dripped hope. A hope I have already lost.

I open my eyes again and I take a glimpse at my room. On my nightstand are accumulating the pill jars, which try to make my pain more bearable. I remember the conversation I had some months ago with doctor Lecter, in which he told me: “ The thought that my life could end at any moment frees me to fully appreciate the beauty, and art, and horror of everything this world has to offer.” Pain has returned. I try not to think about it but is unbearable. With all my strength, I close my fist around the eiderdown. Breathe, breathe. Just breathe. Don’t think. Go away.

After a breath of air, I close my eyes again and pictures invade me like a fire in a dry forest. Newlyweds, he took me in his arms to the hotel room and unbuttoned one by one my dress’ buttons. Too tired for doing nothing, I felt asleep with my head on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. Oh, yes! From my eyes, tears of joy welled up. Very different tears to the ones I shed now.

A knock on my bedroom’s door. Jack enters, dress in his black wool coat which leaves, along with his hat, on the piano. He is wearing skin gloves in his hands, which hold a dark blue fabric briefcase’s handle. He gets nearer to my bed’s headboard and takes a clear glass vial and a syringe from the briefcase. He gets his lips nearer to my ear and utters the last thing I hear: “Ciao, Bella.”

THE END


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